Dancing comps, oh dancing comps…
...where unfulfilled mothers have their time in the spotlight vicariously via their painted babies, instilling all their hopes and dreams for celebrity securely on the shoulders of their daughters (or sons). Celebrity counts even in the small world of New Zealand’s dancing competitions. It’s a strange environment. Time alters when you enter the doors. You no longer measure time by the clock but by class and dancer, meal breaks and results. You can arrive in the dark and leave when it’s light, arrive in the light and leave in the dark. You sit around for hours getting high on hairspray waiting for your daughters to perform their three minute dance, with your heart in your mouth and everything crossed hoping and praying that they at least remember the steps so they don’t freak out and run off the stage; ultimate poor manners in dancing etiquette. Dancing comps are a subset of the community with its own culture and rules. Things are acceptable here that are not, outside th